Please Wipe Me Clean
by Demisexual-Consulting-Hunter
Summary: On days like this he hated everything about himself. On days like this he begged to be struck down and not run back to Sam. But God was rarely merciful. Supernatural. Dean/Sam. Don't like, don't read.
1. Chapter 1

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Sometimes he stood outside in the rain, letting the freezing drops pour over his back and chest, down his face, chasing the hot tears stinging his eyes.

He wished it helped. He wished the water could steal some heavenly grace on its way down and wash him clean. He wished he had never asked Sam to come with him. He knew that last one was a lie, though.

He couldn't imagine life without his little brother. Sam was like food, like sleep, like air. He could feel him always, even when they were apart. He was like the rain, pouring over Dean's back, his chest, chasing away the hot tears stinging his eyes.

It was days like this it got to him and he looked out the window and realized that he and Sam didn't live in that glass castle he built in his head. Those days he would run out of the motels, jump in the car, and drive out to the edge of whatever city they were in that week. Then he would find a forest, a park, an abandoned parking lot, and cry.

He didn't want to break down in front of Sam. Maybe it was that strong older brother thing, or maybe it was coming from that other part of his heart. The part that said that he didn't want to upset someone he loved so much.

He tended to think of Sam with two separate pieces of his heart. One side was seated in his childhood memories of making breakfast for his baby brother, of holding him during the scary parts of movies, of pushing him on the swings at the park, and of watching him walk across the stage to accept his high school diploma. The other was in the deeper, more intense feelings of kissing in the backseat of the Impala until his lips were numb, of holding Sam in bed, of making him dinner for no reason and talking and laughing with him, of wrestling matches turning into passion, of feeling so damn complete that it hurt.

Then there was the guilt, of course. The shame was so tangible on days like this that he could feel it like a stain on his skin. When he walked he imagined the flames of Hell licking at his heels, the Devil just waiting for him to drop dead to claim him forever. On days like this he never wanted to eat, or move at all, and it didn't matter how many showers he took, or how hot the water was, he never felt clean on days like this. He wanted to get away from Sam sometime. He wanted to put him in his rear-view mirror and forget how much he loved him.

Sometimes he fucking hated himself. He hated what he was putting himself and his innocent baby brother through. He hated to think how _fucked up_ and creepy this all was. He looked in the mirror and saw a monster on days like this. He wanted to tear off his skin and bathe in bleach on days like this, just to make the shame melt off. He was repulsed by every memory of every touch, kiss, or whispered word between them. He would pace out in that godforsaken rain, trying so hard to bury all the dead bodies of his memories with Sam. He would cry until his throat hurt, and swear on his mother's soul that he wouldn't go back to Sam, that he would refuse to dirty him like this, that he would steal the car and never darken Sam's doorstep again.

But he never did. He always cried himself out, wiped the dirt from his knees, walked numbly to the car, and drove right back to the motel where Sam would meet his eyes with a question, and he would answer with a kiss.

The deeper part of his heart hated putting Sam through that. Sam knew why he left on days like that, and he would sit around waiting for him to come back, wondering if that was it, if that was the day he would finally leave.

But he never did. And he hated that about himself.


	2. Chapter 2

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One look. That's all it took for Dean to break down the minute he walked in the door, even after he had promised himself during the drive over that he was done crying.

Sam didn't say anything, just got up from the bed and gathered Dean in his arms. Dean was grateful for how strong Sam was, because he couldn't hold himself up anymore. Sam gently led him to the bed, and arranged them so that Dean was practically sitting in Sam's lap. He didn't care though, he just wanted to be close, to breathe in that scent, close his eyes and forget the world for a while.

"Dean, it's gonna be okay," Sam was murmuring into Dean's hair, stroking his back rhythmically, "I'm here. You'll be okay."

Dean knew that really, that was the most comforting and most non-helpful sentence he'd ever heard. Of course Sam was here; that was part of the problem. Sam was here and Dean was here and both were so far gone in each other they couldn't untangle themselves. There was no middle ground, no "safe zone."

And Dean was not okay. He sometimes felt like he would never be okay again. But then Sam would touch him, or kiss him, or hold him and for just that moment it's like the universe would suspend itself in time, swinging from its spider web, and roll back down slowly.

It was moments like this that made it worth all the trouble, worth all the pain and hurt and tears out in the rain. He would go through all that again, walk through fire and water and Hell itself all over again just to have a day with Sam.

That particular night there was no fire or Hell, and the only water was coming in steady drops from the sky, hitting the roof of the motel. The first rain in a long time out here on the desert outskirts. Dean was lying on his side on the bed, Sam resting up on his elbow across from him, close, but not touching.

And they were just talking. Slow rhythmic breathing, chuckles and smiles that made the crinkles by Sam's eyes come out.

Dean's eyes fluttered closed, trying to capture this. He reached out and skimmed his fingertips over the lines he was trying to etch into his mind. Moments like these were as fleeting as the desert rain, and when they came, Dean was as grateful as any wild thing out there.

But he tasted bitter as well as sweet because he knew God was rarely kind to him, and that this wouldn't happen again for a long time.

He shifted and allowed Sam to take him into his arms, feeling the rain, his rain, washing him clean.


End file.
